


Rest

by malchanceux



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: "Gayhawks" should totes be the official ship name, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, I mean prime opportunity right there, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Prompt Fill, Sleep Deprivation, Tumblr Prompt, forced cuddling, new ship new fics awww yisssss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malchanceux/pseuds/malchanceux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Beverly's death, Will can't seem to sleep. Behind closed eyes, all he can see are her terrified eyes, smell the faint aroma of her perfume, feel the heat of her skin under his hand as he chokes the life out of her. </p>
<p>Matthew steps in, as good friends are wont to do, and helps Will relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Saw this (http://will-grahams-straitjacket.tumblr.com/post/81155150550/brownham-fic-where-will-hasnt-slept-in-three-days) and just *had* to fill it. Like, good god man, who could pass this up?? Please don't hate me, I swear on Jonathan Tucker's sexy body that I'm still working on the last installment of Jailhouse Rock. :(((

“You have to sleep, Will,” Matthew says on day three of said patient’s sleep strike, all sincere concern and sad eyes, “You’re going to make yourself sick again.”

_Oh but I am already sick,_ Will hisses in his head, because what sane person sends a _friend_ after the _Chesapeake Ripper_. Hannibal’s the one who choked the life out of Beverly, but it might as well have been Will’s hands that crushed her throat, _his_ hands that cut her body like stone and set her on display for all her friends and family to see and _suffer._

This time the blood coated Will’s hands so thickly there was no way to delude himself into thinking he was even an _ounce_ of innocent.

The only way to purge himself of this horrible crime, the _suffocating guilt_ , was to find the evidence, as Beverly would have wanted, and to catch Hannibal Lecter. But every time Will shut his eyes and let the pendulum swing he felt the ghost heat of Katz’s skin under his palm, smelled the faint aroma of her perfume, saw the sheer terror she felt during her final moments. It was too much, the case was _too personal_ , he couldn’t fucking do it—

“Will…” Will tries to ignore the tone of Matthew’s voice. He doesn’t need the orderly’s concern, doesn’t _want it_ and doesn’t _deserve it._ He sits up, back creaking after being in the same position for too long; a low groan escapes him before he can stop it.

“I’m alright, Matthew. I just have a lot on my mind.”

There is silence for a beat before the orderly pulls out his keys and enters Will’s cell. He is the only one on duty in the “basement” tonight, as it is every Thursday and Sunday evenings. There won’t be anyone to see the younger man’s breach in protocol until six in the morning when shifts change.

“How about something to help you relax?” Matthew asks, “My mom was a masseuse, picked up a few things from her over the years. Maybe it’ll help straighten things out in your head, make it easier to think.”

It’s still strange to Will, surreal, that Matthew is able to read him so easily. Matthew is not insane, not really; he was not wrong when he said they could understand each other. Just as the profiler can read Matthew like an open book, the orderly can do just the same and just as well. It was scary, to be seen so completely, and yet oddly comforting.

Will’s first instinct is to refuse the offer. Physical contact has always been hard for Will, is one of the reasons his love life has always been so stagnant. But isolated within the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will has noticed the absence of shared touches, has even come to crave it. Even he, apparently, needs human contact from time to time.

“I, uh, yeah. That’d be appreciated,” he says awkwardly, though his reply—no mattered how stunted—only makes Matthew smile. Will stands from his hunched position in the corner of his cell and walks to his bed, sitting down stiffly, uncertain.

“Shirts off please,” Matthew sits beside him on the cot, not too close and movements slow, like he knows _(and he probably does)_ that too much too quickly can make Will bolt, proverbially and physically.

Will unzips the top of his jumper with nervous fingers, but he manages to pull it off his shoulders and strip off his shirt without getting cold feet. He knows how Matthew sees him, _knows_ that the man’s feelings go beyond admiration. There are romantic overtures to the orderly’s feelings, and sexual tension clings closely to the mess of obsession and childlike _fondness_ as well. Will knows this, knows it would be wise to avoid the man altogether, but he sought him out for a reason. With Beverly gone, Will is once again all on his own in his battle against Hannibal. Strategically, manipulating Matthew, feeding his infatuation, is the best thing Will can do.

“Relax, Will,” Matthew says, gentle when he first lays his hands across the patient’s shoulders, “I know what I’m doing—this will feel good.”

And it does. The orderly’s hands are skilled as they rub at sore muscles, sooth over tender skin. Matthew pushes his thumbs in rough, works a knot, before fingertips turn light and warm over his back. The process is repeated, over the shoulders and slowly down his spine. It feels _wonderful,_ sends warmth and tingles all throughout Will’s stiff body. Matthew was definitely not exaggeratingwhen he said he’d picked up a few things from his mother.

Halfway down Will’s back, Matthew scoots back to rest against the wall. The change in position makes Will tense back up, especially since it puts the orderly out of eyesight and puts Will between the younger man’s legs. But tender muscles are worked expertly, and soon Will falls back into the lull of relaxed comfort again. It’s then that the all too familiar prick of a needle makes Will gasp and try to arch away from the sting. A strong hand on his shoulder keeps him in place.

“What did you—” a hand clamps over his mouth.

“Shh, shh, it’s just a mild sedative,” Matthew says, pulling Will back to his chest. He struggles, furious, but whatever the orderly gave him is fast. He scratches at the younger man’s arms in his panic, short nails dealing a dull pain, but the strength is leached from his limbs quickly, leaving him to lay helpless on top of Matthew, his head resting at the man’s shoulder. Will’s fingers are loose and clumsy, lose their grip on the orderly’s arms as he is rearranged.

“You need rest, Will”, Matthew says, one arm wrapped around his waist—possessive, protective—while the other keeps Will from making too much noise and disturbing the other patients, “You get so little sleep as it is, I’m not going to stand by and watch you make yourself sick all over again. It ruined you once, I won’t let it ruin you again.”

_Stop,_ Will wants to say, but it is far too late. With every passing second, his body only grows heavier with exhaustion. Matthew’s hand releases his mouth when he’s sure Will cannot speak, tucks Will’s head carefully under his chin, kissing his curls tenderly as he does so. It’s all so sickeningly sweet, so disturbingly sincere; the warmth that bursts in Will’s chest at the gentle ministrations makes him feel nauseas. On some fucked up level, he’s enjoying this.

A hand cards through his hair, fingers gripping tight in his curls and staying there. It doesn’t hurt, this show of possession, though it disturbs Will just as much as it delights him to see how deep Matthew’s obsession goes. The other hand shifts from where it holds him at the waist, moving up slow and smooth, petting at Will’s stomach and up his chest, like he’s a skittish animal that needs soothing.

Matthew’s hands are large, calloused like Will’s own, and warm. The caresses should be upsetting, chilling, but again Will feels a bubble of warmth and calmness where there should only be revulsion. Maybe the orderly was wrong, maybe Will was already sick again—his brain being cooked by fever.

“Go to sleep, Will,” the younger man says, his voice a low rumble vibrating through Will’s foggy world. The command is gently spoken, tender in intent, but no less authoritative. Will finds his eyes shutting without his permission, his mind surrendering to the haze of drugs and exhaustion. He feels safe and secure, tucked in the arms of a killer _(his admirer and only lasting friend),_ and is much too tired to analyze how fucked in the head he must be to feel that way.

**Author's Note:**

> Gayhawks 5ever. <333


End file.
